I Can't
by witwit8
Summary: Holly's getting married. So, you're getting wrecked.
1. Chapter 1

Title: I Can't

Rating: M, kids. Lots of language, a little sex.

Synopsis: Holly's getting fucking married. So, you're getting wrecked.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's note: This wouldn't leave me alone. Told in non-sequential order, all from Gail's P.O.V. Originally a whole story but changed my mind due to my hate for formatting. Every chapter named for time from Holly's wedding. Please let me know what you think. Have the first three parts finished and have started on the others. Will be getting them out shortly. No beta, all the mistakes are mine.

2 Weeks Until the Wedding

"She loves you, you know."

You hadn't even noticed the small brunette plant herself in the chair next to yours let alone seen her gesture to the barkeep with time enough for the tequila to slide in front of you.

"I don't even think she realizes it, or maybe she does but, you know, doesn't know how much. But she does."

You blink, sure that you're at the part of the evening when you're imaging things. But you turn and sure enough, there she is, the bitch that you hate more than almost anything. Your face sets into a snarl, biting words bubbling up your booze soaked throat.

"She fucking loves you… and, you God knows why. A fucking cop- and she's head over fucking heels in love with you. It's- gross."

You're shaking your head then, the fog that had settled upon you throughout the evening suddenly starting to lift, starting to make you _feel_ \- and it's all you can do not to turn and snarl and bare your fangs and tell Lisa to get the fuck out of your face but you don't. Instead, you sip at the proffered beverage before downing it in one clean sweep, wincing slightly against the burn before wiping your mouth.

You stand on unsteady feet, the sudden shift of the evening unsettling. You had to get home. Had to- had to forget all of it. And the presence- of her- of someone so close to-

It sends your gut plummeting and makes you want to gnash your teeth and bang your fists and bellow in your grief, in your regret.

So, you begin to drift by her, stopping only to sigh in displeasure as a fist closes on your forearm, spinning you around to look into glassy, stern brown eyes.

"Holly loves you, Gail. But she's getting married. To a girl who can give her so much- who, who fucking loves her enough to do that for her. You've got to let her-"

The sentence doesn't leave her mouth, not completely.

Your fist draws out of her grip and rears back, connecting with her jaw with a heavy thwack.

Lisa, for her credit, doesn't fold over like you thought she would.

"No- no she fucking doesn't," you're seething, trying to ignore the warnings to the bartender, the growing stares of the crowd, "She's proved that more than once- because, yeah, she's getting married, Lisa. You're right. And the last time I saw her, she was at my doorstep, telling me she had met someone, that she was coming back for her and not for m-"

You don't let the words come out of your mouth because you can feel the sting of the tears pinching your eyes and feel the thick of them in your throat. You take a moment to shake your fist out, step into the woman once more, growling and- wishing, hoping she would come at you, move, fucking something so you could take it out- all of it- on her, on her snide face, her sense of fucking entitlement.

"And I'm not going to put up with you shoving that down my throat and telling me how inadequate and undeserving I am and filling my fucking head with- with stories. I see her at crime scenes, I'm fucking civil. Because she chose, Lisa. And it wasn't me. The end."

And then Lisa- she's fucking laughing, She has the audacity to laugh and you find yourself seething once more, seething because who the hell is this woman-

"Sam's amazing. Kind. Generous. Beautiful. But, Gail- you're fucking blind if you don't see it. You know- you know don't you?"

And then she's launching into a story about how a fling turned into a relationship- over a year- and then Holly had been offered the head pathologist's position in Toronto and had just- taken it. With little thought, no regard. A fight turned into a proposal and a haphazard engagement. Lisa didn't understand it but Sam- Sam was a pediatrician and a damn good one and able- able to give people things-

"But I can't help but think that maybe she was coming back here to get- to get you. And Sam just made her choose and she didn't have a reason not to and Holly- she's loyal, Gail. She's locked in and there's no going back, you know? No going back."

Another shot. Another shaking of her head.

You stare at her with shaking body for a long moment, gritting your teeth against the words that are bubbling up, unbidden in your throat. Try to keep your mind from fleeting to the crime scenes you'd both shared throughout the weeks since her return.

The looks, the locking of the eyes.

The rushing blush of both your cheeks as you're caught raking your eyes up her long, long legs.

Not admonishment that greeted you, but a coy smile and a bitten lip.

Holly's imploring stare, soaked in regret.

Her offer to talk, to clear the air. And your refusal. Because there's nothing she can say to soothe the sting, nothing she can do to make any of it make sense.

You can feel the words spill out into the air without your consent and gasp when all of a sudden they're hanging there thick and heavy in the air.

"She's the love of my life, Lisa," you're rasping, wincing at the sound of their brokenness.

And something is happening because Lisa's eyes have gone soft and her hand is back on your arm but you don't have the sudden urge to claw at her eyes and instead feel the air deflate from your lungs.

"She's the love of my life and I- I fucked it all up and there's nothing I can or will do about it. I know it's all over, Lisa. You don't have to-"

"Gail, I don't think- I don't want you to think that I blame you.. I just- " A deep breath from across the bar, a closing of eyes as she braces for another hit.

"You can't stay either. It's not- you can't fucking stay for you or for her. It's not fair."

The rage does spike- hot and snaking down your spine, the feel of it wrenching your mouth open, ready to rip into the silence. Because this is your fucking home and Holly just had to come in and send that into a fuck tail spin and who was fucking Lisa to tell you where you could and couldn't go-? And fair? Fucking fair? This- you, Holly, her- none of it has ever been fair or right or- anything. You're nothing. The same as you've always been- you're-nothing anymore but a shadow on her life. You want the rage to come pouring out, want it to mask your plummeting realization. But it doesn't. It doesn't because she's right.

You don't want to stay, don't want to watch her embark her life with this woman- this woman who wasn't you.

You're settled onto the stool once more when Lisa hands you another shot, shoots you another sympathetic smile.

"Do you- can you get anytime off?" She's asking you as gently as she can muster.

You grunt and shrug because, yeah- maybe you could weasel some personal time out of Ollie and maybe you could spend some time traveling and trying to figure out where you go from here-

"I have a house," she's starting, a little stilted, like she can't believe she's saying all of these things, "In the- oh, fuck, it's in the fucking Hamptons, alright? And it's vacant and I thought that maybe you could have some time and go there for a while. It's solitary, it's- look, it's free and I was just thinking, if you needed…."

Her words trail off and you are left in awkward silence. A moment, one, two, and then-

"Why are you doing this?" You breathe.

Lisa drops her head into her open palms, sighs, and drinks a long drink.

When she speaks, it's a regretful whisper.

"Because I'm fairly certain that the reason my best friend isn't with the love of her life is because I can't keep my fucking mouth shut. Because I don't hate you as much as I want to and I'm trying to find a way to make this right, yeah?"

A wry smile finds its way on your face and you're shooting back a response before you can even help it.

"And so they say her heart grew three sizes that day."

And then she's snorting and shoving you and you sit in companionable silence for the rest of the evening until you're stumbling home with a bemused smile on your face, an address and a key tucked neatly into your pocket.

Let me know what you think!

Thanks,

Whit


	2. Chapter 2

3 months Until the Wedding

The rapping on the door surprises you. You jolt up glancing at the clock, yawn and stretch on the way over to the door.

11 pm on a Monday. Whoever the hell it was better have a damn good reason-

The air rushes out of your lungs when the door opens and the words die in your lungs because you see that it's her. That it's her and she's real and for the first time in almost two years the woman you've always wondered about is real and in the flesh and smiling that crooked, shy smile at you-

"Hey," she breathes, her eyes skittering and dipping down.

"Hey," you're choking, knees quaking and mind all to spin.

"I- hi- uh- You look- " Her hand goes to her glasses in a well-practiced move, the other brushing through long dark hair.

"Yeah," you're breathing, eyes skirting down the length of her, "you, too. I- uh- Holly?"

Her name rings out in the hallway and you both stand there frozen simply looking, peering, assessing.

Her eyes lock with yours for a moment, she takes a step.

And then her words are tumbling out her beautiful lips and it's all you can do to keep up, to listen. Because she's telling you that's she's back. She's back and she's going to be working her old job- well, sort of- her old job but better, she says, skirting the issue- but she's back and she just wanted you to know because although you haven't talked much over your absence, you had a bit and she didn't want you to be blindsided because-

And then all of the air that still remains in the room is gone because she's holding out a trembling hand and you can see the fucking rock that sits on her hand.

"I'm getting married."

The words are out in a rush and they take your guts with them. Your body is hollow and your hands find themselves gripped tightly together as the words sink in, slowly, painfully.

"Oh," you're choking, the smile on your face strained and tight, "Oh, I- Holly, that's great. I'm so- happy for you. So- I'll see you at work?"

And Holly's face is unreadable then because she's looking at you- really, really fucking peering straight into you and furrowing her eyebrow and you can hear the words before they're spoken and hold a sweaty hand up to quell the sound because you can't stand to hear it right now, can't stand to hear it maybe ever. You're shattered and you don't want to hear it.

"Don't you apologize," you're interjecting, "Don't you dare apologize for finding someone who makes you happy, Holly. I'm- I'm glad. When- when?"

And then she's rushing out that her fiancé- Sam, she mentions, wants it to happen fast so they're thinking March.

March.

When it was January.

Your stomach rolls again, your eyes close against the onslaught. Your whiskey is calling your name and all of a sudden you are so desperate for it to light a fire down your throat, invade your chest with warmth- anything to distract from this bottomless ice.

"Thanks for letting me know," you're saying, backing away.

She's looking at you in that way she used to when you would have night mares in her bed. Like she wants to help, like she wants to heal.

But this time she can't, this time she will be the face that haunts your dreams.

"Gail-"

Your name, once lovely and pleasing to your ears, ricochets in your chest, pings painfully at your heart.

"Have a good night, Holly," You're saying, the door of your apartment safely between you both now, "I'll see you at work next week."

The door closes on her worried face.

You turn your back to it, heave a sigh and lean on it.

You slide to the floor and drop your heavy skull into open and aching palms.

You fight the first heave of your chest, grit your teeth into the second. Mostly surrender to it then.

Holly was back. Holly was back and here and God-

You crawl your way into your bedroom then, deep under the covers, nestle into the dark nothingness, into the comforting arms of the Jack bottle you'd picked up earlier. A long draw, a shuddering breath. A long cry into the covers as the pressure of it all crushes you.

You've never felt more terrible in your life.


	3. Chapter 3

2 days Until the Wedding

The sound on the door is loud, persistent, insistent.

You race to it, fling it open and barely have a moment to process before she is moving past you into your kitchen, blowing past you with little regard. She tracks across the floor quickly, turning only once she reaches the other end to the refrigerator.

She regards you with red rimmed and wild eyes, gapes her mouth for a moment before closing it and licking at dry lips.

"Holly," you're asking, arm outstretched but body locked into place.

And then her eyes have set and the lines of her face are harsh and angry and she's speaking swiftly, her tone sharp.

"So, what? You're just going to leave?"

Her arms are wrapped securely, defensively, around her body as if shielding herself against the coming storm.

You let the words settle for a moment before sighing, running your fingers through your hair.

"I have some time-"

"That's not what I asked and you know it!" She's growling and you're tilting your head, confused by the hostility.

"I- Holly, I can't."

"Can't what, Gail? Huh? Be near me? You- you hate me that much?"

And you're pinching your nose and squeezing your eyes closed because this is the last thing you wanted or expected for the evening and you just begin to speak, to the hell with the implications.

"You know that's not it. You know it, Holly. I could never- Jesus fucking Christ, Holly!"

And then you're not closing your eyes anymore, you're training them on her still stubborn form and bearing them down upon her, white hot and penetrating. The words snap out of your mouth, steam forward, poison laced and bitter.

"You're the one- you're one who came back here and had to tell me that you're getting married. You're- you're not mine anymore, Holly. And- your friends- your fucking friends- coming around to tell me how much I don't measure up, filling my head with bullshit stories- I can't do it anymore, Holly."

Her eyes are softening then, her demeanor changing a bit to wilt with the weight of it all.

"What did she say to you, Gail?"

You scoff, the sound humorless to your own ears.

She presses once more a moment of silence later.

"Nothing I didn't already know."

And she's looking at you then with so much anger and so much frustration and you almost buckle then but the anger is coursing through your own veins and not just Lisa's face and words are flashing through your memories but Sam's as well. Sam and her lingering glance at the bar. Sam and her biting words that morphed to pleas.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean- nothing I didn't already know? You don't know a damn thing, Gail. What did she say to you?"

And she is so angry and so adamant that you know you an answer is all that is going to end this moment. So, you speak.

"Look, Lisa didn't mean anything by it and hey- it all worked out in the end. I'm actually-"

But her head is whipping up and her nostrils are flared and holy fuck that isn't who she's talking about and her hands are gripping onto the kitchen counter so tightly that you're afraid she's going to break it or her or both.

"That's not who I'm talking about!" She yells, face an exasperated mix of anger and confusion and frustration.

"I- Sam came home drunk tonight. She gets a little- truthful. She spilled. Wouldn't tell me what she'd said, what she'd done, just that- that I had downplayed how gorgeous you were, how- smart. And I had to- I had to come and I don't know. Apologize? Make sure you were okay or something-"

A heavy silence, a labored, shuddering breath as those familiar words invade your senses, make you squirm.

But anger is racing white hot and fast within you, too. Your heart pounds as it floods every orifice of your body, and you fight the bitter taste of hateful words on your tongue. But you're embarrassed and exhausted of all of this and Jesus fuck this hurts too much and you've had enough of it.

When you speak it's cold and low and your eyes are closed so you don't have to look at her.

This is it, you think, this is the time to burn it all down.

"Look-I told you earlier- I can't do this. What about anything I said earlier screams 'show up to my home unannounced and drag me into your personal wedding drama'? I am done, Holly. Go the hell home. To your fiancé. She loves you so much."

And her hand is slamming down onto the counter surface and the sound jolts you, snaps your eyes to her almost panting body.

"Don't you fucking- don't you dare, Gail. You tell me. You tell me what they've said."

"No." The words are quick out of your mouth, spiteful. You turn your steely eyes upon her and adjust your body so you are standing ram rod straight, a challenge.

"Go home." Your words are strong even as your lungs are collapsing, your heart about to shrivel.

This shakes her. For a moment she stares at you, takes you in.

"Tell me."

And you're not budging but then again neither is she and you're at an impossible impasse, too stubborn and broken to do anything but stare.

"I won't so- I don't know what to tell you. Ask them. I didn't- I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't come to them. I have been so goddamn good about- all of it- and look where it gets me. I didn't even mean to and fucked with your relationship. So, there's your answer, Holly. Ask them and go home. Because I'm not good for you."

"Is that what- because you know. You know that isn't the truth, Gail. Goddammit. I'm sorry that I'm here, and that I… talked to you that way. I'm just- Gail, I'm sorry. "

And Holly's voice is soft and hesitant all of a sudden and you draw your eyes to her face, devastated and conflicted and so goddamn sad.

And you feel so terrible all of a sudden, feel so responsible for it all.

"Hey, no- Hol, look-"

There are 6 steps from you to her. You take them quickly and close the distance. But then you're there and so close and you have no idea what to do except to stand there and put a light hand on her forearm.

She looks into your eyes, watery and sullen.

A light touch turns into a heavy hand on her face as it brushes the tears there away.

"It's okay," you're soothing as she leans into you, "I'm gonna be fine. Hey."

And both of your hands are cupping her cheeks and you wait until she meets your eyes level with hers before you offer and slight, reassuring smile.

"I'm going to be okay, Holly. I'm going to- go. Stay on the beach for a while, travel the States maybe. And you're going to stay and get married to someone great and you're going to be happy and we are going to be fine."

And her face is crumbling still but her eyes are lighter and maybe a little hopeful as she asks the question.

"You think?"

The words are so heavy and uncertain and you know- you know that this is the moment that you could take her in your arms and profess all of your long held desire, tell her of every whim and every fantasy since she left- fuck, when she first walked into your crime scene- that she would shudder and surrender in your arms.

But you can't- you fucking can't as much as you want to and god you want to. The words burn and burst in your throat and you close your eyes, ready to fire the last shot.

"I know."

And you're kissing her forehead, her cheek, lingering. And she's closing her eyes and breathing so shallow.

You untangle yourself from her gently, offer a watery smile.

You utter words you mean with every inch of you as she's closing the door behind her to go.

"Please, be happy. If anyone deserves it, it's you, Holly."

She doesn't have a chance to respond, the door already on the downward swing as it closes behind her with a hard, final thud.

A long moment as the silence begins to seep into you. The loss strikes you then and your hand finds its way back to your blown out chest and the only thing you can do is bow in the ruin of your kitchen, trembling.

The loud thud of the door against the concrete wall startles the hell out of you and you turn and right yourself with only a moment to spare before Holly is back in your apartment and grasping desperate handfuls of hair and sliding open, wanting lips onto yours.

You moan and respond immediately, your back pressed again the hard surface of the refrigerator. She's kissing you so fucking desperately and moaning wantonly in your ear and aligning her hips with yours and raking the nails of her hands down rolling muscles, singing skin.

And you know it's wrong and the tears that were in your eyes before she burst in are still there and still rolling despite your current situation.

Or maybe this was a symptom of the encounter.

The kiss was desperate, smoldering in its intensity, flaring brighter and brighter with each passing moment.

But you know, even through tangled tongues and growling words of regrets and stinging clutches, that this isn't the beginning of anything, isn't a grand proclamation. You love this woman, you fucking love her and if that doesn't shred you to pieces every day that you wake without her.

But she has family and wants and obligations and she can't-

You let yourself savor the final pass, the final breath and break the embrace. Stroke warm thumbs over her cheeks when she opens glassy eyes and meets them with yours.

"I mean it, Hol. I do-"

"I know."

Her words are melancholy.

"But the idea- the idea of it, Gail. Of not seeing you everyday- I-"

"It's the best thing and you know it. I can't, you can't."

A small laugh bubbles out of your lips.

"You know the drill."

Another long look, a chaste kiss on your lips.

"You know I'll always-"

You wince, bringing a hand to her lips.

"I know, Hol- I just, please don't say it. I don't think I could if you did."

And you see something shatter in her then just as you feel it collapse in your own chest. Because she won't say it if you don't want to hear it but then again she knows that now, you'll never hear it. She'll never hear your response.

Yes, she knew. Holly knew with every part of her how she felt about the woman in front of her- the way that made people write tomes and tomes of sonnets and stupid fucking fairytales with happy endings and stories of frozen time and love at first sight, the stupid and savage and all-consuming kind of love.

"Be safe, Gail." She breathes.

And she nods, and takes a final look, and she's gone.

And leaves you to sink in the aftermath.

Angst. Yeesh. Let me know what you think!

Whit


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Thank you for all of the great reviews. This story is 6 parts- and I will have the 5th and 6th installments up soon-ish. I tried not to make the fiance a villian and maybe she is maybe she isn't but whatever. Let me know how it goes, yeah?

Loliizer: Thank you for pointing out the weird time stamps. I fixed them I hope.

* * *

1 week Before the Wedding

You motion to the bartender, gesturing to your fourth empty glass. He nods, turns, and within moments you're staring down a shiny new glass, smiling through the wince as the Jack and Coke soothed down your throat.

The buzz in your head is pleasant. Apparently there was a direct correlation between alcohol potency and the tip percentage. He catches your eye and smiles, lingering a bit too long for your liking. A tight lipped smile and raising of the glass and then you're looking down into your phone once more, hovering on _her_ name, Lisa's words from the week before still ruminating in your head.

Another memory as your mind drifts to that morning, sitting in front of Oliver, sweaty palms jittery against your thighs. His face was soft as your words drifted into his ears. At first confused, a little unsettled, and then- sympathy, understanding. It un nerved you, this look, made you want to curl up and just surrender to the growing thickness of tears in your throat.

He's sighing and reaching across the desk to put his hand on your shoulder and nodding his head.

"You have so many vacation days saved up, Peck- and I understand, I-"

Clearing his throat and looking down for a moment, he sighs and reaches into his desk, grasping an object and suddenly throwing it onto the surface in front of you.

"I was going to tell you after shift-"

And it's a badge. With your name on it. And it's not the one that you were currently wearing but different and your breath catches in your throat-

"Congratulations, Detective. We met this morning- it was unanimous. But it can wait. This will actually be a good time to segue, you know? Take some time before your training. So, you take this and take some time."

He laughs a small laugh.

We'll be waiting for you when you get back and whole and healed, yeah?"

And you're holding the badge in your hands, just staring, just-

And then the tears are racing down your face and you're meeting him in the middle of the desk and hugging him as hard as you can manage.

"Thank you," you're whispering, "Thank you so much, Ollie."

He holds you for a moment longer, pulling away to wipe his eye on his sleeve.

He put his hand on your shoulder, met your eyes.

"Take all the time you need."

The memory ghosts a smile on your face and for a moment you do feel a little less broken, a little less empty.

Another rattling of ice as your glass is suddenly empty and another gesture and another smile gets you a fresh one.

Another lingering smile as he meets your eyes with his.

You try to smile back but feel like it comes off more as a grimace.

He's flirting with you. You shake your head. Before- before all of the Holly and the heartbreak- he would have been a perfect candidate with whom to drown your sorrows in- but now, in the after, all you can think of is rough skin, rough hands where they should be smooth and delicate.

Another long pull.

And then another person- a female person- is sliding in next to you and gesturing to the bar keep with shaky hands and slightly slurred words.

"I'll have whatever she's having," the woman, petite, beautiful, is smiling at you and turning her attention to you and you're squinting your eyes in confusion because who the hell-

"You're prettier than I thought you'd be."

The words hand heavy in the air and you let the words settle upon your hot ears before you're opening your mouth to respond but she beats you to it.

"I love your hair. Holly told me that she cut it the first time- that's right?"

And then your eyes are closing because why the fuck does this keep happening to you when all you want to do is drown in your chosen, bubbly beverage.

A smile to the bar keep as he places the drink in front of the woman. She takes a drink, half the glass, grimacing before wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

"She did a good job... But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Holly's good with her hands."

You gulp as the bomb lands directly onto its intended target, stealing your breath and wrecking your heart.

Fuck it. You could just go to the goddamn grocery and buy a bottle and go home and drink where no one could find you.

You stand quickly and wobble slightly as you toss money on the table top, shouting out your intent to the bar keeper and gesturing to the bills.

You grab your jacket quickly, so intent to get out of the Penny, out of the conversation that you had no desire to be a part of.

You're brushing past her, trying to fight the images she's painted with her provocative words, the churning sickness it sets in your stomach.

But of course she's following you out into the night and before you know it, she's grabbed your wrist and has spun you around and is observing you with glassy eyes.

"She never really talks about you. She never really does. But sometimes it's like she catches herself, you know- getting ready to tell a story with this- smile on her face. But then she looks at me and it goes away and all I'm left with is the idea that maybe it's because- because she's thinking about you."

You're shaking your head, trying to further yourself still as she continues.

"And that- that can't fucking happen, you know? I can't have my fiance thinking about a woman from a hundred fucking years ago. So here's the deal, Officer-"

And she's invading the space that no one ever gets to invade and pointing an accusing finger at you.

"You're going to stop whatever the hell you're doing that has had her distant and quiet and- and- different since we got here. She's mine, Gail. You can't take her."

And of all the sounds that you thought you'd be making in this moment, you're certain it would never have crossed your mind that you'd be laughing.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You're exploding at her, hands pushing against her shoulders.

"I haven't done a goddamn thing since you got here and you're here accusing me of trying to steal your future wife?"

The words burn and are so bitter on your lips.

"First of all, Doctor- the me Tarzan, you Jane thing? Not fucking attractive. She's not anyone's, yeah? And even if I- God, Sam. It is Sam, yeah?"

And she's opening her mouth to speak but you cut her off.

"Holly's a good person- probably the best person. But that's all she is to me. Like you said- fiance. Done. You good now? Your drunken stalkery thirst sated? Move."

And you're moving away from her once more, brushing her hand away when she once more tries to grab your arm.

"I'm out of patience, Doc. Really. Get your damn hands off of me."

"You're no good for her and you know it! Just let her go!"

And that- it hurts because as much as you want to turn and look at her and walk over and shred her to fucking pieces, flay her flesh with your bare hands and deny her words and their validity, you think she's probably right.

You don't turn but you pause, your shoulders heaving with labored breath.

Words escape you. But they don't with your counterpart, her words softer when they hit the night air.

"I just can't- I can't lose her. She makes me better. She makes me-"

And the words are harsh but sincere as they husk out of your mouth.

"Into someone that you actually like? Yeah, she does that."

And then you're walking away, her eyes boring hard into your back.

You walk to the corner market, go immediately to the liquor section.

You buy a bottle of bourbon and check out less than three minutes later.

Chris knocks on your door four shots in when you stumble into the bedside table and knock your clock on the ground.

You tell him you're fine and to fuck off with one breath.

He goes away soon after that.

The next morning when you're all bleary eyes and chugging coffee, you and Chris share a long look. You think you both decided in that moment not to mention or acknowledge the evening before- the drinking, the unsteady body- and the keening, muddled cries that persisted through the night.

* * *

4/6

Let me know what you think!

Thanks!

Whit


	5. Chapter 5

3 Days Before the Wedding

You're going to the fucking Hamptons.

Your ticket is booked, your bag is almost packed, and your mind- your mind is muddled and tired and just so ready to be done with the fucking week.

Three days. Three fucking days before Holly Stewart was no longer really Holly Stewart but Holly Bitchkids and God- the thought of that woman sends your mind and blood still reeling, still boiling.

But she's isn't who you're concerned about at the moment, not really. Your mind drifts to that morning- it had been difficult; a shared crime scene, the same lingering glances thrown your way. You couldn't entertain them this time, though, couldn't muster the strength or the energy to play along.

It wasn't thrilling, wasn't fun.

It fucking hurt.

So, you found yourself drifting her way, standing by her side and asking in quick, dull sentences-Could you talk, maybe? Tonight?

And if she's surprised, she doesn't show it. She nods her head and tells you she gets off at 6.

You don't answer, don't even acknowledge it. Just walk away to your car, trembling. Because this is it, you think. This is everything you have to do. Sam's words, Lisa's words- they swirl in your brain, churn in your ears. And set the stage for the conversation you don't ever want to have.

5:45 finds you in you car outside the lab, heater quietly chugging away. Your hands are heavy and so is your tongue and your heart is beating so fast and the tears are already pricking your eyes and you're so keyed up, so ready to destroy everything you'd ever wanted, that you couldn't take it anymore.

Five minutes of flashing your badge and stomping down the hallway later, you spot her. You want to just look for a moment- just look and memorize so you could try to remember her this way- beautiful and concentrated and so fucking...

But you blow past that idea and then you're barging into the lab and if she does notice your presence she doesn't say anything for a few moments.

She's finishing a row of stitches, eyebrow knitted in concentration. You're quiet for a moment before you clear your throat.

She finishes the row a second later, snipping the thread and turning to you with a smile, snapping her latex gloves off.

"Hey!" she's saying brightly, "I just have to finish up here and then we can go- what are you thinking? You hungry or maybe if you're not- just coffee? I'm sort of starving, though- I didn't really eat lunch-"

And you let her ramble for a moment and fight the smile it tries to evoke on your face.

But then she just keeps going and you know what you have to do and the words are clawing at your insides just as much as your heart is begging you to keep them inside and you just can't do it anymore.

"God, Holly! I can't! I came to say- I came here to tell you that I can't do this!"

And she's startled by your volume and confused by your words.

"You came here tonight to see me to tell me you couldn't see me tonight?"

And her confusion is so cute but also so fucking infuriating because you just want to get this out and over with and this isn't helping.

"No!" You're shouting in exasperation, fist thumping against the wooden door.

"I'm telling you- that I can't do this anymore. I can't exist in this place with you where you're marrying someone and always looking at me like- like you need me. You can't look at me like that and not expect-"

And you stop there because this is quickly become too personal, too deep, and you're trying to get out, trying to make it all go away just so you can go away. And she doesn't say anything, just looks at you with those huge brown imploring eyes.

"I can't be a part of you right now, Holly. I can't see you, I can't- I'm no good, you know?"

And you're putting distance between you because you know what this is going to illicit- a soft uttering of your name and a hand reaching out to touch you but you don't want it- or you do, but you don't want to want- and the bark that comes out of your mouth booms in the small lab.

"Goddammit, no!" You're screaming, wrenching away from her. "I don't want any part of you!"

And the words have a visible effect on her. Her face falls, her lip juts.

You turn away from the sight, afraid of crumbling.

"I can't so I'm leaving for a while," you're saying, words just pouring out of your mouth, "So- I just came here to say... all of that. Be happy, Holly."

You're trying to escape then- hand on the door, when her broken, soft words break onto your ears.

"When?"

You pause, entertain the notion of just walking away but can't bring yourself to do it.

"Three days."

The words- small, unassuming- numb the air.

"Right," she breathes taking a moment, "right."

A beat and then bitter words.

"Big day for both of us, then."

That tears a wince and a shudder out of you. You don't respond to it, though. Don't react because then she'd know- then she'd know how hurt and fucking bitter and broken you were and you just can't-

You nod, all of the fight gone from your body.

Another moment, another couple of heavy breaths.

You're opening the door and striding out when your name leaves her lips in a small plea.

"Gail, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

It takes everything in you not to turn to her, take it all back.

But you don't.

You square your shoulders, raise your head, and walk your broken fucking heart right out the door letting it shut loudly behind you.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: Well, this has been fun. I do believe this chapter will wrap things up nicely. This one's a bit of a wollup. I wrote the whole story just so I could write this chapter, so please let me know what you think. Hope this makes it worth the ride, And oh yeah. This chapter is what earned this sucker the M rating. So if you're not into that kind of thing, turn back now.

* * *

The Big Day

You'd fibbed a bit.

Well, not intentionally.

You weren't leaving today, today. Your flight was scheduled for 3 o'clock the next day- enough time for you to spend some good, quality time drinking this day away and to sleep it off enough in time to make it to the airport, have a Bloody Mary, and fly into JFK at 5:30 the next evening. A direct flight and then a cab and then-

Nothing.

A beginning, an end. A re-imagining of your life, really.

You had originally scheduled your flight today but had thought better of it, calling the ticketing agent twenty minutes after the payment was processed to request a change of flight.

You'd been afraid of this day, afraid of what it would do to you.

You underestimated it, really. And that was a goddamn shame.

You'd woken early, bleary eyes fixed on the clock, groaning and wrapping an arm around your head to block out the light. You didn't need to be awake, didn't need to feel the full blistering on salught of your heavy hangover.

You were officially on vacation, the paper work filed and your mother informed.

She didn't like it but then again, you barely spoke after the whole implosion of the Peck family, no thanks to you. A brother in jail, a father investigated for trying to intimidate a witness, two, three- that had been the bitch, having to testify against him. But it had been the right thing to do- excruciating, mind numbing- but necessary. Because you couldn't escape the shadow of the name until you fucking faced it, shone a light on their misdeed, and bore witness to the corruption at the very core of them, the utter false veneer and deceit. You were a lot of things, but a liar, you realized, was not one of them- and you solidified that fact when you faced the man that barely raised you, barely tolerated you, with utter conviction and calculation.

He would be later convicted, stripped of his commendations, fired. And that was your fault. And you had to live with it.

And you had to get away from it.

With a groan, you'd turned over and managed to salvage a few more precious moments of sleep.

9 o'clock found you staring down a half empty bottle of bourbon, glass tumbler beside it filled to the brim. You don't drink it, just stare at it, thinking.

Thinking about what she's doing now- her hair, or her make up, maybe- although she's never been one for a heavy hand.

Thinking about Holly's mother, Grace, fitting her with her dress- because although Holly wasn't much for them, her mother had always wanted her only daughter to wear it, fastening it with a slow, sentimental slide of her wrist, a soft touch on her shoulders. Proud, brimming with joy as she took in the beautiful sight of her.

And that's what makes you take the first drink.

Long and slow and steady, sipping.

Three more hours- three more hours of reminders and regrets and nothing to do except stir in the thoughts of what might have been and drinking in long, slow passes.

At ten o'clock, two drinks in, you move out to your beloved balcony- wooden planks creaking underneath you feet as you settle of the plush of the couch you'd picked six months before.

You kicked you feet up, rattled the ice in your glass and stared out into the Toronto skyline.

You won't miss it, you try to assure yourself.

It doesn't work and that thought just leaves you scowling and you observe the dark heavy clouds, your mood lighting slightly at the thought of rain.

When the first drop falls at 11, you contemplate just letting it wash over you but you don't want to be cold so you find yourself dragging the couch back so it's beneath the other ledge of the top balcony and out of danger.

At 12 pm, you thud your head down into the pillows of your bed, awash with grief. It was all beginning then, the ceremony.

And you were ending, right here and now in the hollow walls of your room.

15 minutes later, you're ordering Chinese food with gruff words. You needed to drink more so you needed to eat something.

15 minutes after that, there's a knock on your door.

With slightly wobbly legs your eyes shoot up with surprise at the quick delivery and you force yourself to stand. Your bag and your wallet, you needed money-

Another knock.

"I'll be there in a minute-" More rifling for your purse.

"It's open, come in- just- I'll be right there!"

And you hear the door open and light foot steps pad into the foyer.

You finally spot your purse, immediately scooping it up and peering inside. You moved with purpose to the waiting delivery guy, eyes peering into the blackness of the bag, hand rifling for your money. You don't even look at the person in your apartment, just try to speak while searching.

"Hey," you're saying, "sorry- I have cash, I just need to dig it out."

But there's not a response for a moment. You finally spot your wallet in the depths of your purse when-

"Hey."

A breathless whisper.

And you freeze- every muscle and bone and goddamn cell of your body stopping and waiting in that moment. You close your eyes, afraid that, somehow, you've fallen asleep and this is all a dream. You don't dare to look, don't dare to look only to see that she's not there-

But then-

"Gail."

And that's enough to grasp your attention and your eyes snap open and your head pops up and then you're looking at the full, beautiful, and real form of her, of Holly Stewart, wrapped in antique lace with wet hair and wet clothes and- bare, dirty feet, her tattered heels clattering to the ground from where they were held in her hand. She rounds it all out with her faded motorcycle jacket, flecked with rain as well. You stare, try to process-

The purse drops out of your hands with a thud as it catches all up to you at once- that it's her and she's here and not where she should be and your hand comes up to cover your mouth, the suddenly tear soaked breath stuttering against the palm of your hand.

"Oh my God," you're saying, willing the tears out of your eyes.

And she's just looking at you, nervous hands coming out to slick back her hair and smooth it down.

And then she's talking and you're falling.

"I got up today, I got dressed. My mom- she, she helped me. Smoothed my shoulders down, looked into the mirror with me the way that they always seem to which is ridiculous because she's all of five feet and could barely see over my shoulder but she made it work. And she just looked at me- and it's like she could see it. Like she could fucking see that all I could think about, all I wanted wasn't the woman I've been trying to convince myself I could marry but this amazing woman who I've thought about every single day since I met her."

You're breathless, the words exhilarating you, petrifying you, making you whole.

"And it's so fucked because there I was getting ready to marry a perfectly nice, perfectly stable and lovely woman- who, you know- is an asshole and so so fucking wrong about you because if anything I'm not really good enough for you- God, I'm a coward because I didn't stay- but here I am getting dressed to get fucking MARRIED but my head kept saying was that it wasn't to the right someone. And I realized it was because- well, not realized because I think I knew as soon as I took the job without a thought why- I'm not usually impulsive, you know?- why I wanted to come back here. So, I told my mom everything and she didn't hate me and then I told Sam and I think she does hate me but I don't care. It's insane because this woman who I was prepared to marry, turns out I don't even really know her after all and I don't care if she hates me but the thought that you might- it made me sick and God, it all makes sense. And it's because- because-"

She pauses, looks down, overwhelmed, and catches her breath. She is shaking, wringing her hands nervously.

And the silence is so heavy and potent and charged that you feel like if you moved it would be like walking underwater, your body battling against the forces sparking between you both. It's a type of movie magic silence- the swelling of the strings, the tipping of the shoulders, the lean in and the breathless wonder of the ensuing epiphany.

And your throat catches and you're whispering once more.

"Oh my God, Holly- what did you do?"

And then she's looking at, this time her jaw set and her eyes dark and wanting and determined.

"I chose. I realized that I had to make a choice. And I choose you. I will choose you every day, for the rest of my life. I know I have a lot to make up for, a lot of mistakes, but I will make them all up to, as long as you'll have me-"

And you've started to move, you think, your body drawn to hers.

"Because I'm in love with you and I choose you."

And all you know are heavy strides, colliding bodies, grasping hands and wanting breath.

You open your mouth against hers, melting into her as you collide against the closed door, winding your hands into long dark hair, moaning as she immediately slides her tongue around yours, retreating, breathing, before doing it all over again.

She's kissing you with such force and her arms are crushing you with their strength as they grasp at your sides, slide down to grip at your hips and pull.

She's panting, heavy breath labored, and it feels like she's trying to pour herself into you and God, every word, every last goddamn twisted emotion since the very beginning of you both, it's been leading to this powder keg of a moment when she's kissing you and healing you and making you new.

She's crying and you think you are too but you don't care, plundering her mouth endlessly over and over again until you're undone and gulping for breath, the pads of your fingers now gritting into the hollow of her cheeks.

And you're pressing so hard into one another, lips locking over and over, teeth gnashing and clicking.

And you're pushing the jacket off of her shoulders and threading one hand through that thick, gorgeous hair and yanking her head to the side, mouth descending on the smooth column of her neck. You work your way down, pausing to suck hard on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, the slope of it, before adding your teeth and soothing over it with your questing tongue.

She's grasping you harder still and gasping into the apartment and bucking her hips when you work your free hand down her body to grasp a full breast.

"Oh, God," she's panting, "Gail- yes, I..."

And you slide your thigh in between her legs and move your hand to her other breast and swallow her moan with your mouth, your hair wrapped fingers yanking her face back to your own.

She's speaking in between the connection of your lips.

"Gail, God-we should- don't we need to talk?"

And you're groaning, pressing harder into her and dipping your tongue into the sweet cavern of her mouth again and again and shaking your head, intent on skimming your hands down her bare and flawless skin.

"No," you're muttering, "After. Please, Hol. I just need to feel you. I need to know that all of this is fucking real."

And the moan that rips out of her sends a jolt straight down into the depths of your stomach, adding to the wetness growing in between your thighs and you're surging against her and she's nodding her head, stopping when she breaks the kiss to turn rapidly in your arms, bracing herself against the door frame and gesturing to her dress.

"Take it off, I want you to take it off of me."

And you're kissing the back of her neck and your hands are grasping at the buttons that keep the lace together, pulling and peeling and exposing the delicious caramel skin that wraps around her spine, dipping down to run your tongue up the length of it, mapping inch by beautiful fucking inch.

And then the dress is pooling around her ankles and she's turning and your mouth is the fucking Sahara because she's in nothing but a pale corset and lacy under wear and Jesus Christ a garter high on her lean right thigh.

And you step back to look at her, roaming your eyes hungrily over her and shaking your head and she must take your adoration as hesitation because she begins to ramble at you.

"I- I wanted, I wanted to wear this for you. I wanted you to pull at it and for you to strip it off of me. All I want is-"

But you're shaking your head and delving into her space once more to place a slow, deep, affirming kiss on her lips.

"You're so fucking beautiful," you're whispering against her lips, your hand reaching up once more to grasp at a silk covered breast.

She's panting into your mouth and you're palming them both now and rolling pebbled nipples through thin fabric.

"God, I've missed this."

And your voice is so soft and reverent that if you weren't here in this moment to hear it, you'd swear it wasn't your own.

"I want you. I want to taste you."

And then you're dropping down onto wobbly knees and looking up into murky eyes, a lip trapped in between teeth. You're pulling the lacy fabric of her underwear down long legs, discarding it behind you and then, then you're smiling up at her, grasping at the flimsy fabric of the garter with your teeth and gliding it down to her kicking feet, taking special care to scrape the inside of her thigh with your glinting teeth on your decent and fuck she's impatient but you're coming alive and you want to savor this and thank whatever god is responsible for your stupid fucking luck. And then, then you're ghosting your tongue along strong abs, hard and hollow hips. You take a moment to close your eyes and breathe in the heady smell of her, nuzzling your nose into her abdomen, reveling in the touch and the feel of her.

She's rocking into you, begging for you to touch her, so when you dip your head up to skirt your tongue along her entrance, pausing to flick slightly before your tongue finds the hardness of her clit, the moan she makes ricochets in the apartment, her knees buckling, her hand coming out to brace hard against the door jam.

Hands tangle in your hair as you wrap your hands around her hips and hum against her. A few more rasps of your tongue against her clit before she's pulling at your shoulders, pulling you to her, turning your bodies so you've got her braced against the side of the door frame. She seals her mouth over yours tangling her tongue with hers and moaning deeply when she tastes herself on your lips.

And your press into her harder when she shifts a leg onto your hip, pressing at your ass with both palms, pushing and pulling you into her heaving body, her wet and warm core.

And she's panting so hotly in your ear, intermittently flicking the lobe with her tongue and begging you to touch her.

"I've wanted this- God, I've wanted this for so long. Ever since I- ever since the last time...do you remember?"

And you're still rutting against her, undulating your hips and pushing your jean clad thigh into the vee of her legs and one hand is high up on the door, grasping the wooden frame with white, rigid fingers. The other is suddenly yanking the corset down, watching with hooded eyes as the tan globes spill out over the soft fabric.

She moans when your lips find their way to her the juncture of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. You soothe it with your tongue before changing tactics altogether and sinking your teeth into the reddened flesh. You smile into the skin when she cries out and juts her hips harder.

"Of course I remember the last time I fucked you, Holly."

Your words are so deep and husky and soaked in sex they're unrecognizable and the woman of your fucking dreams is in front of you panting and writhing in your arms and all you want to do is build her up before you bring her crashing all the way down; all you want to do is enter her with strong fingers and locked and steady eyes. All you want to is feel her- feel how she wet and warm and welcoming she is once more as you take her and retreat and curl at a breakneck pace before you beg her to come around your fingers.

"I bent you over the the back of the couch and took you from behind and you let me pull your hair- well- told me to and I fucked you until you couldn't stand. Not a thing I'm bound to forget."

And she's being assaulted by the memories and her head is thumping back into the wood with an exasperated groan and she cants her hips down onto your thigh, seeking friction desperately.

And you want so badly to just take her right here, fuck her into submission in the doorway, make her hips roll into your hand as you move inside her with a single minded focus. But you're starting to feel too hot and you want your clothes off and Goddammit how is this woman- how is this woman is front of you, begging you to take her?

A gasp into your mouth as you pull her legs around your waist, hoisting her up and traveling the short distance to the plush couch in the living room, depositing her with a small plop. You watch as she looks up at you, teeth sinking into those smeared and full lips, eyes dark and full of lust and just transfixed as you shed your shirt and bra in one fell swoop.

And then- then you're snaking your hands up to hers and holding them in place before skirting your own down her body, moving your lips to the slope of her breast and sucking hard, marking her once more.

She goes rogue for a moment and you hiss at he sting as she rakes her hands down your back in retaliation.

"Keep them there." You're ordering, placing them once more.

And she does, hips moving underneath yours in a petulant display.

"I need you to touch me," she whispering, lips rooting until they find a pale breast, a hard pink nipple.

She arches into you, swirling her tongue slowly with a smiling and smug mouth when you allow yourself to surrender for a moment and cry out at the scraping teeth on the tender skin.

You're threading fingers in her hair and she's opening her mouth wider and you're cursing and you are so fucking wet-

But you have something to do before you allow yourself to surrender to your own pleasure and you're pushing a dark shoulder down onto the couch and blanketing her body completely, your left hand holding you up, the other now tracing the brunette's full, kiss swollen lips.

She finds your eyes with her own glassy ones and opens her mouth at the press of your fingers, engulfing one and then two in the warmth of her mouth, flicking her tongue against them and moaning when you slide them in and then out of her full lips.

You close your eyes, moaning at the image.

And you can't fucking take it anymore you just want everything- all of it- all at once and you're opening your eyes again and pressing your wet fingers up and into her and gaping and gasping with wonder at the familiar warm slickness.

"Holly, oh my God- I forgot how fucking good you feel."

You groan, fighting to keep your eyes open as you watch the pleasure wash over her face. And you can tell it's a struggle for her- but she gets it, gets that you want to see her eyes, look straight into her as you reaquaint yourself with her body- and she's gasping as you withdraw your fingers almost completely before thrusting back into her, hard, your fingers curling and searching until you find-

"Oh my God!"

And her hips almost lift your body completely off the couch because you're hitting the soft, spongey part of her that makes her mind reel and her body ache and tremble and she's gritting her teeth against the onslaught and fighting to keep her eyes open and locked with yours as she stares into you with a furrowed brow, an open mouth. A look on her face like she can't quite believe this is happening, that it can all still feel this fucking good-

And she's such a fucking sight- all gasping cries and white knuckles and bouncing breasts pushed up and over pearl colored lace as you fuck her, hard.

And she's clenching around your hand and looking at you and her eyes are so deep and dark and you get lost in them barely noticing when her hands are all of a suddenly baring down on your ass, pushing your hips into your hand and driving deeper, harder.

And then you're working to make her come, working to make her bear down and her eyes close and her world crash. And your heart is so full of excitement and adrenaline and love that you can barely take it anymore and you are staring down at her and spilling words upon her skin as she begins to build into her orgasm.

"I love you, " you're panting, hand moving in a blur, "I am so fucking in love with you, Holly."

And she's ghosting her hands up to your neck and pulling you closer to her until you're barely an inch apart, her arms wrapped around your shoulders and forehead to forehead, her eyes still locked with yours.

"I know, baby. I know." She's whispering, back beginning to bow, eyes beginning to blur as the fire starts to engulf her from the inside.

"Oh, God, Gail," she's groaning, hips moving wildly against your hand, the words practically breathed into your mouth as her eyes light with the first sparks of it, eyebrows knit in surprise at it fierceness.

"Baby, you're gonna make me come. Please. Please."

One more hard pulse of your hand, your forehead heavy on hers as hips cant once more, and freeze, hitched in the air, your fingers stilling for a moment as she peaks.

And then you're moving so quickly once more and guiding her though a second, your thumb flitting back and forth over her hard clit.

And she's coming with hard shakes and open, watery eyes and growling, keening curses.

You collapse on top of her soon after and remove your fingers slowly, smiling when she shudders. You move to wipe them on your still jean clad thigh but before you can think, they have found their way toward your wanting lips and then you're licking the sweetness of her from your fingers and she's gasping and writhing once more at the sight.

And then you''re being flipped over and God help you she feels just as good inside of you as she ever has.

Hours later, sated and sweaty and finally, finally tucked into the softness of your bed, you're locked together, heavy limbs tangled and breaths puffed hard against naked skin. You blanketing her from behind when you start to speak, the words truthful and rumbling against her ear.

You talk and apologize and soothe wounds both old and new with a steady hand and a repentant mouth.

And it's when she's asking you about your plans- the traveling, New York- now that everything had turned out the way that it had that you pause for the first time since this encounter began.

You're silent for a moment, hands draped securely around her warm body. You feel the familiar lurch of your heart, uncertainty rattling around in your chest. But you banish it because you have a second chance and she is here and now and you want so badly not to send it all to hell.

"I think I have to go," you find yourself muttering. And you feel her stiffen in front of you, feel as she nods her head and tries not to tremble.

And the air is thick and chilled but you tread on.

"But from what I understand, you have some time off yourself. So, I was thinking- maybe- if you want to-"

And she's turning in your arms, eyes bright but mouth twisted into the crazy wide smile that you love so fucking much.

And she's pressing that wide smile into yours so gently and whispering a "yeah?" against your lips and softly blanketing your body with hers and you're nodding, transfixed and puffing out short, staccato breaths on her lips.

"Yeah, " you're whispering, hands coming up to play with the hair at the nape of her neck.

"I want everything with you, Lunchbox," you're whispering, the words felt raw upon her lips as you pull her within a hairsbreadth of you, "So, how bout we start by fucking all over Lisa's beach house, maybe taking in a show or two in the city- and then coming back here and- starting all of this over the right way. What do you think?"

And she's nodding once, twice, before her eyes are transfixed and closing because "God, yes", she's saying, and this is it. This is the beginning- this is it.

And it's not easy- you fight and wound and crawl but you also fuck and heal and burn for one another and decide there in the warmth of your ratty old apartment that this was it, this was everything for the rest of time and there was no going back from this, from you and Holly and your overwhelming inevitability.

* * *

3 Years Later

And it's years later, head heavy with sleep and settled back against the large rocking chair in the nursery that your wife had built for this very moment, your newborn daughter greedily suckling your swollen breast for her 3 am feeding, that your mind drifts back to that tumultuous time. The moments when your heart constricted and deflated and imploded because the woman it had picked, it had latched onto and always would, was no longer going to be anything of yours but someone else's to hold and heal and build a life with.

But then the miracle of the wedding that didn't happen caused this chain of events that led you- both of you- to this very moment and even through the booze soaked tears and the stuttered stop start of your once ramshackle, stitched up heart- you could not find a single moment you regretted because it is what lead you to a happy, whole existence.

You stir and look up in time to see your wife leaning against the wall, smiling the softest of smiles at the image.

"I woke up and you weren't there," she says once you've seen her, "And then I came to find you and then- well- I saw you and-"

And she's peering at you and smiling but biting her lip in what looks like an attempt to stop the breaking of her voice and she's coming over to you and cupping your still pregnancy swollen, blushing cheeks and kissing your drooping eyes and parted lips.

"You are so beautiful and I am so, so lucky that you love me. And you gave me- Gail, she's beautiful, isn't she?"

And you're melting and nodding and ghosting your hand over a soft, dark head. And you're watching as she begins to nod off, lips pursed and fist scrunched in your shirt. She wakes every few moments when you try to take your breast back but eventually drifts into an exhausted slumber, her breath coming in hard grunt like breaths.

It draws a sharp laugh from you and you try to stop the sharp sound.

Holly is looking at her- your daughter- with such a look of adoration and you're so fixated on her because she's so beautiful and your heart is so full of love for both of them, your girls.

"She looks exactly like you. Sleeps exactly like you. Snores like you."

And you're drifting your finger over the soft lines of full lips, baby soft cheeks.

"I think she looks like you."

You snort.

"Doesn't really work that way, Lunchbox. I told you: I carry, I get nerdy Holly lunchbox baby. Maybe if we don't completely crash and burn with this one I can be convinced to mix my genes with another of my kind."

And she's chuckling lightly and cupping your jaw once more and telling you with full, soft eyes how much she loves you.

And you believe her because you feel it, too, and everyday you wake with her you drown in it and can't wait to drift to sleep wrapped up in her just so you can wake only to do it over and over again.

And this is it- your life, your family- your everything and your ending.

And your wife is kissing you like it's the last thing she'll ever do and your Dot, named after Holly's beloved grandmother, is snoring and sated and soft in your arms and, yeah, everything didn't come together in an easy way but it came together in the right way and you are the luckiest person to ever live because you broke the curse and you shed the Peck skin and you became the kind of person that your wife is proud to call her own.

And you're not perfect but you're fucking learning everyday and you can't tell the future but you're finally thinking that it might a hell of a lot better, brighter than you ever imagined it could be.

* * *

End.

Please tell me what you think. Thank you so much for going on this little journey with me and thank you for you great comments and messages. You're the best.


End file.
